livejournal fics//joncer

I Constantly Thank God for Bath and Body Works

Author: mirandahmurders

 

Juniper breeze.

Jon's not quite sure the first time he noticed Spencer. He liked to believe it was because of Spencer's nature. With Brendon, you couldn't get him to shut up, and with Ryan, you knew him intimately from the songs he wrote, but with Spencer? Spencer believed that if he didn't speak, he would disappear from the public view entirely. He didn't want to be noted for his family troubles, or his overly-gay hand motions. (Brendon would later try to defend his 'overly-gay hand motions', which, of course, would fail because he would use overly-gay hand motions to punctuate each statement.) But Spencer? Spencer was different. And Jon was determined to watch him until he found out exactly why.

(That was the thing with Jon. He was patient and impatient, caring and indifferent, lackadaisical and a busy body. Bill used to spend hours poking fun at him for each of these things, but for the most part he was taunted because he loved to study people.)

It was breezy, very breezy, to the point where he had to wear a hoodie and even a scarf. It had to be about mid-June or so, which would explain the brightening sun and the continuously smiling people he kept on seeing, even this early in the morning.

Around halfway through the dew dropped grass he decided wearing sandals was a bad idea.

Around halfway through mentally complaining, he noted Spencer leaning against a nearby tree, staring intently at a flower blossom.

Around halfway through staring at Spencer, said Spencer noticed and offered Jon a soft smile.

He took that as the best invitation he was going to receive.

"Morning!" Jon said, his voice still thick with sleep, and he was silently praying it didn't sound as rough out loud as it did in his own head.

"Morning," Spencer responded, staring down to the blossom he was cradling, his palms pressed together in a slight cup. Jon stared with him, noting how the dark hoodie caused the delicate skin of Spencer's wrist to seem even more fragile, if possible.

"What's that?" Jon asked as he moved to sit next to Spencer, crossing his legs to match Spencer's, beginning to pick at the slick grass.

"Magnolia blossom. They're usually gone on the coast this time of year. This must be one of the last ones considering I haven't seen any other..." Spencer trailed a tapered fingertip down one velvety petal, the two pallid colors matching perfectly. "They're my favorite, you know," He added after a moment, looking up to Jon.

Jon smiled, raising a brow with a curious cock of his head, "You don't say? Spencer Smith, I didn't imagine you to be the flower loving type."

Spencer laughed—soft and clear, and Jon decided he quite liked the sound of it. "If you tell anyone, I'll deny it to no end, then choke you in your sleep." Spencer looked down to the blossom once more before placing it on the ground and standing up in a less-than-fluid motion.

"I'll remember that," and he meant that, because for some reason Jon didn't think he was kidding. Jon didn't think much anymore, though. He just slid his larger hands into Spencer's and allowed the younger boy to help him up and lead him to the bus. Their hands connected for about two minutes longer then necessary.

Cotton Blossom.

By the time it was winter, Jon had finally gotten in all the observing he really needed. He was professional about it—he took notes, even the occasional picture, and most importantly, placed a phone call to one William Beckett every night.

"So, Jon, what do you have for me tonight?" William sounded tired, or horny, or hungry, so Jon doesn't ask how his day was, because really, he'd rather not know.